


More Than These Four Walls

by ununoriginal



Category: Kanjani8 (Band)
Genre: M/M, One Shot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-08-23
Updated: 2008-08-23
Packaged: 2017-12-15 02:05:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,162
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/844044
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ununoriginal/pseuds/ununoriginal
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Subaru looks around his apartment, he sees more than furniture and four walls.</p>
            </blockquote>





	More Than These Four Walls

When Subaru looks around the small rectangular space he calls his apartment, he sees so much more than furniture and four walls.  
  
  
In front of him is the living room area, where a long plush red couch takes pride of place, before it a low coffee table that is sandwiched on its other side by an old television and DVD player.  That's where he spends most of his time, sliding off the couch into the tiny space between it and the table, knees curled to his chest, when he's writing lyrics to the songs that Yasu composes for him.  
  
It doesn't matter if he's run out of inspiration, or if he's so tired his eyelids are drooping even as his pen is moving across paper, or if he's suddenly just finished two whole verses and the chorus in a burst of creativity – most times, whenever he pauses and leans back against the couch, gentle fingers will ruffle his hair, running softly through the strands, sending little shivers of sensation down from his scalp to the rest of him until he feels even his toes may be tingling slightly.  
  
He'll turn his head so Yasu's fingertips will be grazing his nose and cheek and he'll nuzzle at them playfully.  Yasu will chuckle indulgently and lean down so their lips and tongues meet.  
  
Usually after that, he'll be scrambling back up on the cushions to join Yasu, who will reach back to carefully put down his guitar behind the couch.  In his haste, Subaru will almost always scrape the side of his left knee against the edge of the table.  Sometimes he marvels that there isn't a dent in the pine wood finish from the countless times he's knocked it.  
  
The first time he did it – climbed onto Yasu and practically devoured Yasu's mouth with the force he fused their lips together, Yasu had stiffened in surprise and then turned pliant and willing, meeting Subaru's invading tongue with his own, hands coming up to cup and stroke Subaru's cheeks, gentling and calming him.  They broke apart, reluctant and tender, breaths still mingling as Yasu smiled that magical  smile of his and whispered, “That took you long enough.”  
  
And with that, Subaru was lifted out of months of hesitation and fear, insecurity and the despair that had culminated in the black desperation which had induced him to accost Yasu, who had been grinning proudly at Subaru after he'd finished playing his latest song for SubaruBAND.  
  
The couch meant long, lazy afternoons of peace, a single strumming guitar and two voices, two souls, harmonising in wonderful synchrony.  
  
  
Screened a little ways from the couch is where Subaru's bed is, beside the window that catches the morning sun.  It's where the creeping rays steal through the half-drawn curtains to paint shadowy contrasts over Yasu's firm abs, quivering slightly as Subaru runs his tongue over the smooth velvety skin before bite-tugging on the piercing at Yasu's navel.  
  
Yasu will throw his head back, and his blond waves will spill across the bedding to be caught by the light spreading further into the room.  Subaru will look up from where he's licking Yasu's cock, along the shuddering line of Yasu's body, to where his throat is swallowing convulsively and then gasping Subaru's name.  Sparkling motes of dust will float in the still air, disturbed only by Yasu's increasingly urgent breaths as he nears completion.  
  
The bed is endless nights of love and ecstasy, of gazing back into eyes so unbearably intent upon him, Yasu's hands pinning Subaru's wrists at either side of his head, Yasu's face coming closer and closer, Yasu's lips crazy-gentle on Subaru's eyelids, his brow, his cheeks.  
  
  
Next to the sleeping area is the bathroom and shower, where Yasu had surprised Subaru when letting himself in for the first time after Subaru gave him the apartment key.  Subaru can't enter the bathroom without remembering the almost-painful imprint of the tiles at his back, Yasu sucking at the pulse pounding at the base of Subaru's throat, as the water ran slick down their faces and hands; his fingers clutching fistfuls of the pink-and-white striped fabric of Yasu's soaked T-shirt as Yasu hoisted Subaru's right leg higher and drove even deeper into him.  
  
Times when Yasu has to be away, the shower is where Subaru will retreat to, to gather the precious moments when they were one and imagine that the hot water flowing down his face and body is Yasu's breath, Yasu's caress, comforting him, enclosing him, sustaining him.  
  
  
Near the doorway is the tiny kitchen area, just a sink and a small stove, barely used since neither Subaru nor Yasu are keen on cooking.  It's really nothing special, just a place for Subaru to dump the dishes and glasses until they pile up enough that Yasu starts cleaning them and putting them away, while Subaru watches, feeling vaguely guilty.    
  
He'll promise himself he'll be more disciplined about clearing up after himself but two or three weeks will pass, his schedule will build up, and along with it, so do the stack of dishes.  Before he knows it, Yasu will be poking his head into the cabinet under the sink, looking for detergent and a scrub brush, humming cheerfully to himself as he sets to work.  
  
The kitchen is Yasu pausing one day in the middle of attacking a particularly stubborn stain on the plate he's holding to turn towards Subaru, a rarely-seen hesitant light in his eyes.  
  
The kitchen is Yasu asking haltingly, “Na, Shibuyan... shall we-- shall we move in together?”  
  
The kitchen is Subaru dropping the glass in his hand, shattering it; Yasu flustering at the shards and rushing to clean it; Subaru suddenly grabbing Yasu, heedless of the danger, and pulling Yasu into his arms, holding so tightly he thinks he can feel Yasu and him melding into one being.  
  
The kitchen is Yasu laughing shakily and saying, “I take it this is a yes?”, and Subaru squeezing even tighter, still not saying anything for the choking constriction at his throat.  
  
  
Subaru stands by the doorway, seeing all these and more, even though the couch has been removed, the bed has been sold, the clothes and magazines and DVD's and cutlery all packed away.  The sunlight falls through open windows devoid of blinds and curtains, onto bare floorboards.  
  
Everything is in his mind's eye – hazy mornings and dreamy afternoons, quiet evenings and peaceful nights – all of it flashing by in this apartment that became a home the first time Yasu, smiling brightly, had rang the doorbell after Subaru had returned to Osaka for good, offering a song that he'd written and would love Subaru to hear.  
  
Subaru does one last slow scan of the ghostly afterimages of objects no longer present, collecting the memories, before shouldering his bag and stepping out, heading down the hallway and outside to where Yasu, and a new home, is awaiting.  
  
The apartment door clicks shut behind him.


End file.
